


Swerving through these streets

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: You Drove Me Wild [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Elves, Drunk Kisses, M/M, fingon is a bad influence, finrod is a bad influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon thinks Maedhros needs a night out. In which for once the Fëanorians are not the bad influence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swerving through these streets

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Блуждая по этим улицам](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606229) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



“Psst!” An overloud whisper came from the window, and Maitimo started so violently he almost overturned his inkwell. He caught it and righted it before it could spill onto the report he’d been reading with rapidly waning interest.

He looked up, and saw a familiar face grinning at him from the window.

“Findekáno, what – ”

Findekáno hefted himself up on the window sill and perched there, looking pleased with himself.

“Ambarussa told me I might find you here.”

“Well, obviously,” said Maitimo, still baffled. “As it’s my room.”

Findekáno rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the windowsill to plant them on the floor. “But what are you _doing_ in your room, Nelyo?”

Maitimo gestured to the report. “Working. My father expects the inventory by – ”

“ – by the time he finishes that commission for Olwë, which will be a week at least. Moryo mentioned it yesterday. You have _days_ to work on it. Why are you inside on a night like this?”

“What else would I be doing?” Maitimo set the report down and crossed over to the bed so he could sit opposite Findekáno and study his cousin. “And some of us don’t like leaving things until the last minute.”

Findekáno shook his head sorrowfully. “You and Turukáno should start a club, honestly. You must use lines from the same rulebook; it’s the only explanation for how you both manage to sound like elderly accountants.”

Maitimo tried to pull a wounded expression onto his face, but only managed a lopsided smile. “You know I’m rubbish at arithmetic. Moryo’s the born accountant, not me.”

Findekáno sighed loudly. “I’m not here to discuss your career prospects, Maitimo, I’m here to get you out. Because,” and he held up a finger like one who knows he has an unassailable point, “because, even your comrade in rule-abiding boringdom, my beloved brother Turukáno, is out tonight. And by this point,” Findekáno glanced at the fading light, “…Findaráto should have him at least five eighths of the way to drunk off his face.”

Maitimo stood quickly. “Oh no. Not again. I am never going drinking with you and Findaráto again, not after – ”

Findekáno leapt up from the windowsill and followed Maitimo into the room, pressing close and not allowing him to flee. “The incident with the spoon and Haru’s beehives? I told you, Findaráto takes full responsibility for that and swears it was a one time occurrence.”

“I don’t believe him,” Maitimo said, looking for an escape and finding none. Giving up, he sat down on the bed again and Findekáno crouched before him, looking expectant. “I had welts for weeks.”

“Ancient history. We’re older and wiser now. Come drinking with us.”

“My brothers will notice if I…”

“Bring ‘em.”

“Are you insane?” Maitimo pinioned Findekáno with a look. “You know what Tyelko’s like when he drinks. Livestock will go missing across the county. And Indis did not find what that chicken did in her armoire at all amusing. And Moryo will get in a fight – ”

“With who?” asked Findekáno curiously.

“Anyone. Everyone. And – ” but Findekáno put a finger to Maitimo’s lips, and Maitimo stopped talking abruptly.

“So don’t bring ’em,” Findekáno said. “But I’m bringing you. No buts.”

Maitimo leaned back on his elbows, defeated, as Findekáno rose to his feet, victorious. “Come on.” He held out his hand, and Maitimo took it, letting himself be heaved to his feet. 

As Findekáno led him to the window, Maitimo paused, frowning. “I do have a door, Finno. And stairs.”

Findekáno swung his leg over the windowsill and looked up at Maitimo, a familiar light in his eyes. “But this is so much more fun.” He swung his other leg over too, and dropped out of sight.

Yielding to the inevitable, Maitimo followed him. As ever.

-

“But see – but _see_ ,” Turukáno’s serious face was even more serious than usual, despite the fact that his tousled hair was crowned with wilting flowers and he had on only one boot. “If you take that to mean that free will is a lie, and that determinasm – determ – deteramistic – ”

“Very true,” said Findaráto, soothingly, tucking another flower into Turukáno’s hair. 

“Then the whole thing –life – it’s predestinated. Perdeterminatated. Thing.”

“An excellent point. Well made. I’m quite convinced.”

Turukáno sat back, somewhat unsteadily, looking pleased. “It’sh just logic.”

“Indeed. Now drink your boot.”

Turukáno reached agreeably for his boot, which had a bottleneck sticking out of it. Findaráto patted him on the arm. 

Across the fire Findekáno lost the battle with keeping a straight face and laughed uproariously, slumping back against Maitimo. 

“I should keep you on hand for our family dinners,” he said, wiping his eyes and gesturing to Findaráto. “When he starts to drone on, I’ll just have you spike his drink.”

Findaráto smiled beatifically, his hair framing his face like a golden halo. The angelic image was slightly detracted by the wine-stained tunic hanging loosely off one shoulder, but his hand was quite steady as he poured another glass of crimson liquid for himself. “I am ever at your disposal, Findekáno.”

Findekáno chuckled, leaning comfortably back against Maitimo now, who, without even thinking about it, wrapped an arm around his waist. “Aren’t you glad I freed you from your prison, princess?” Findekáno asked, lazily.

Maitimo dug his fingers into Findekáno’s ribs, causing him to squirm and let out a squawk of protest. “Don’t call me princess.”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry… Elbereth, stop _tickling_.”

Findaráto tossed another wreath of flowers across the fire. It sailed like a discus and landed neatly on Maitimo’s head. “Your highness.”

Findekáno had squirmed away from Maitimo’s fingers until he was almost prone, his head on Maitimo’s lap. He peered up at the flowers, blinking a little as the smoke from the fire got in his eyes. “You look good in a crown.”

Maitimo wrinkled his nose. “These flowers better not have mites in them, Ingoldo.”

“I would never crown a prince of the Noldor with infested flowers,” said Findaráto gravely, but he was smiling. His eyes lost focus, a little, as he gazed across the fire at them; Findekáno’s head pillowed in Maitimo’s lap, the flower crown slipping slightly on Maitimo’s hair. “You wear the crown well,” Findaráto said softly. “But not, I think, for long.” And sure enough, as Maitimo tilted his head, the garland dropped to the ground in a small burst of petals.

“Oh dear,” said Findekáno idly, picking it up and holding it up. “Not damaged, is it?”

Maitimo nudged him with his boot and Findekáno lost his grip, dropping the crown onto his own face.

Maitimo and Findaráto laughed, and Turukáno, who’d been drowsing off against the bole of a tree, started up slightly, saying “What’s that?” in a vague voice before his head dropped back down.

“Too much wine,” declared Findekáno, scrambling to his feet. “It’s making us all sleepy. Findaráto – the strong stuff, if you please.”

“As my lord commands,” said Findaráto, with a salute, and he tossed a suspiciously familiar looking bottle of clear liquid to Findekáno.

As Findekáno popped the cork, Maitimo smelled a familiar, eye-watering aroma. “That’s no drink,” he said, “that’s medical grade disinfectant. Or possibly insecticide. It is _not_ potable.”

“’Potable’,” snorted Findekáno, raising the bottle to his lips. “You’re clearly not drunk enough, Maitimo.” He titled his head back and drank long and deep, until Maitimo pulled the bottle away from his lips. 

“Don’t drown yourself in it, Finno.”

Findekáno shook his head, staggering slightly, but his eyes and smile were bright. “ _Whoo_.”

“Here it comes,” murmured Findaráto, who was now leaning against the same tree as Turukáno and drinking idly from the boot.

“Here what – ” Maitimo began, but he was answered a second later when Findekáno let out a ringing whoop and took off running through the trees.

“Better catch him,” said Findaráto helpfully, “else he’ll wake the Valar themselves. I’ll stay here with the other one.”

Cursing, Maitimo took off after his cousin.

-

Findekáno had made it all the way to the city streets by the time Maitimo caught up with him, breathless and more than a little dizzy from the combined effects of too much wine and unexpected cross-country sprinting. 

“Finno!” he hissed, spotting his cousin loping easily down a side street. “Finno – Manwe’s bollocks, Findekáno, _stop_!”

Findekáno looked up merrily as Maitimo finally reached him, seizing him around the waist to arrest his progress. “Maitimo!”

“Yes, you idiot, it’s me.” Maitimo slumped against the wall of a building to catch his breath, keeping a tight hold on his cousin in case Findekáno got a second wind. But Findekáno seemed happy enough to relax under Maitimo’s arm, sloping forward to press himself easily against Maitimo’s chest. He tipped his head back to look up at Maitimo’s face, blinking slightly as if staring into a bright light.

Maitimo worked to get his breath under control. “Are you ready to stop running?”

Findekáno didn’t answer, reaching up to touch a long strand of red hair that had freed itself from Maitimo’s braids. “Yes,” he said at last, winding the hair around his fingers.

Maitimo ducked his head as Findekáno tugged him closer. “Findekáno,” he said, very quietly. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” Findekáno agreed. Their faces were very close together now, and Maitimo could feel Findekáno’s breath on his lips. He took a deep, shaky breath, and was about to pull away when Findekáno stretched up and kissed him.

Maitimo’s head was whirling, though whether it was from the drink or the feeling of Findekáno’s warm lips under his, he couldn’t honestly say. His brain told him to pull away; to stop; to help Findekáno get home and into bed; but the only part of that that he actually processed was the image of Findekáno in bed, braids spread out across the sheets. And then Maitimo was pulling Findekáno in closer, deepening the kiss, and it was only the little moan that the kiss dragged from Findekáno that brought him to his senses.

Gasping, Maitimo pulled back, his head thumping against the wall, his heart thundering in his chest. “Wait,” he whispered. “Wait.”

His arms were still around Findekáno’s waist, though, and try as he might, he could neither bring himself to let go nor to meet his cousin’s eyes.

“Maitimo?” Findekáno’s voice was tentative, and more sober than he had sounded all night.

“This is – we shouldn’t – not here,” Maitimo said, incoherently. “I – come on.”

Findekáno followed silently as Maitimo led them through the quiet streets and back to his house. He stopped and turned to Findekáno. “Yours is further on,” he said. “Do you want me to walk you…?”

“No,” said Findekáno, quiet but clearly. “I think I should sleep it off here.”

“I – yes,” said Maitimo, helplessly.

They tiptoed up the stairs, past the closed doors of his brothers’ rooms, to the end of the hall and Maitimo’s room. Thanking the Valar that Curufinwë had compulsively oiled every hinge in the house in one of his fastidious fits, Maitimo pushed his door open and led Findekáno in. 

He went to the water pitcher by the side of his bed and poured them each a large cup of water. Turning with them in his hands, he paused.

Findekáno had pulled his tunic off over his head and was starting to work on unlacing his breeches, cursing a little as he fumbled over the knots.

“Findekáno – what are – do you –”

Findekáno succeeded at last in undoing his laces, and flopped down on the bed as he shucked his breeches onto the floor. “Is that water?”

Maitimo realized his mouth was open slightly. He closed it, and nodded, holding out one of the glasses to Findekáno. Findekáno drained the glass and fell back onto the pillows, his eyes closing. “Eru, I feel like I’ve run a league.”

Maitimo set his own glass carefully on the bedside table and sat down next to his cousin. “At least that. I thought I wouldn’t catch you.”

“But you did.” Findekáno rolled over and smiled up at him and Maitimo couldn’t help himself. He bent down and kissed Findekáno again, raising one hand to cup his cheek.

When he pulled away, Findekáno’s eyes were shining. “So you do – you feel the same. I wasn’t – ”

“Hush,” said Maitimo, weakly. He pulled off his clothes and slid under the sheets, feeling the heat of Findekáno’s body as his cousin joined him. “We’ve been drinking,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s all.”

He felt Findekáno’s head tuck in under his chin, and one of those strong arms wrap around his waist. Findekáno let out a sigh. “You’re right,” he said, so quietly Maitimo could barely hear him. “That’s all it was.”

Maitimo folded an arm around his cousin’s shoulders and let sleep take him. Flowers and flames swam before his closed eyes, but neither shone as brightly as the memory of Findekáno’s smile.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. About that drunk running: I have at least three close friends who are “runners” when they get drunk. This can make life difficult. I figured that Fingon fit the profile of someone who would do this, and make life difficult for certain long-suffering cousins.  
> 1\. Sorry for any anachronistic language/behavior. Finrod and Fingon are basically talking like my drunk college friends.  
> 2\. The title (like the series title) is stolen from a Tegan and Sara song. Because in another world, Fingon and Maedhros are totally hipster lesbians.  
> 3\. This is pure silliness. Thanks for indulging me.  
> 4\. Oh! And I realize my elves are sleeping with their eyes closed. I know Tolkien said otherwise, but I choose to think that elves might sleep with their eyes closed when they feel particularly safe (or are particularly drunk). Also, it's less creepy and I don't wonder so much about their eyeballs drying out in the night.


End file.
